She woke up shivering with cold, squinted at her watch in the moonlight and gasped in shock to find it was one o’clock in the morning. She’d better stay here all night, but she was so cold. Taking the cushions off the other chairs, she draped them over herself. It helped to keep her a bit warmer. Not enough, though.

In the end she had a little drink and that warmed her properly.

‘You wait, Tom Bloody Prichard,’ she muttered. ‘I’ll pay you back for this. It’s all your fault.’

Jez woke early, feeling more like his old self than he had for a long time. A catchy little tune popped into his head as he lay feeling relaxed and happy. He’d composed a few lately, a sign that he was truly better, surely?

Getting up, he stretched lazily then slipped into his dressing gown. It had rained during the night and the garden looked fresh in the early morning sunlight. As he stood by the window, a bird hopped onto the sill and another one followed. ‘One Little Birdie,’ he muttered. ‘That’s it!’

He went straight down to the studio to fiddle with the melody line on the keyboard. When he was satisfied, he switched on his computer and keyed in the melody to the music program, seeing the music writing itself across the screen. A damned sight more convenient than writing it down by hand. He created a file and saved it.

Now he had to find some words, and flesh out the first of the simple songs he wanted to write for his grandchildren. He opened his word-processing program and—

‘Have you had your coffee and biscuits yet?’

‘What?’ He turned round to see Donna standing in the doorway, hands on hips.

‘You haven’t had anything, have you? If you had, there’d be mugs and plates lying around.’

He leaned back, smiling, suddenly aware that he was extremely thirsty. ‘No, I haven’t.’

‘It’s eight o’clock.’

He looked at his keyboard with regret. ‘I’ve been up since six. Didn’t notice how time was passing.’

‘You know your doctor said you should have a snack early on, even if you don’t feel like it. I’ll fetch you something.’ She went to the kitchen.

He went back to working on the lyrics, which meant modifying the melody a little and … Something was waved to and fro under his nose and he snapped into awareness to see what she’d brought: coffee and a couple of biscuits.

He sipped the coffee, realised it wasn’t too hot and took a mouthful. ‘I’m writing a song for the children. Want to hear it? The lyrics are still a bit uncertain, but I’ve got the chorus.’

He played a cheerful little introduction, then sang:

One little birdie in a tree,

Two little birdies, then there’s three.

Three little birdies then there’s four,

Hop-hop-hopping to my door.

She listened, moving her head in time to the music without realising what she was doing until he pointed it out gleefully.